Brick Walls and Iron Locked Gates Won't Keep Me From The One I Love

At around 3:30am on Wednesday morning, I woke up hearing clicking noises and scuffling. I was frozen stiff, trying to figure out if the sound was coming from inside or outside. Then a CRASH! and we both lept out of our bed to the window. All was still, and we could see that my green bike had toppled. "The bikes just fell over," said Casson. "Are you sure they are both still there?" I asked. Neither of us could see without our contacts. I went to flip on the porch light, and Lo! Casson's bike was gone. He raced outside and jumped the wall, but no one was in sight. "Well, that sucks." We called the police anyways, to report it. The cop was very friendly and actually seemed to care a lot. He said that the transient population in this area have often been stripped of their driver's license for whatever reason, and so they steal bikes for transportation. That explains all the angry people that Casson passes on his way to work every morning. It's the same people every day, and they never say hello. They must not be out for a pleasant morning bike ride. The cop said that the trouble maker transients also all ride bikes because they can escape the police down alleys and across fields. Well, lesson learned. Our bikes are still on the porch, but three locked together with U-locks will probably be too much to hoist. We're just very grateful that all the person wanted was the bike. And now it's not a bad thing that we haven't yet sold our other car (not that we've advertised it yet), so Casson has transportation to work without having to leave me stranded in the apartment. Not that I'd mind lately. I've started learning to sew...

A Restaurant Review and a Tour of Pinal County

We had breakfast at the Drip Coffee Lounge this morning. Advertising Organic breakfasts and lunches, and a cool atmosphere. Well, yeah maybe. Cold is more like it. Baby boomers in bandanas and their canine companions lined the sidewalk in front of the door. When we approached, we had to walk in the rocks to get around them. One man said of his bandana-necked pooch "I tried to get him to move." Boy did I want to try to get him to move!

Inside the restaurant, one encounters cement and plastic, and I don't just mean in the faces of the waitresses and barrista's, but in the walls, chairs, tables, and utensils, as well. The only comfortable-looking spot in the place was a kind of bathroom lounge area with Basquiat art books on the coffee table just outside the toilet room. The hard part to deal with was that the sink and towels were also in this lounge area, but this area was not really separated from the eating area of the restaurant. So you basically wash your hands next to the people sitting at table letter "A." Yes, each table is lettered.

We ordered our food. I had some granola and Casson had some eggs and toast. He got a coffee, and I had a small juice. We ate our organic breakfast with orange, plastic utensils that had been sitting directly on the table for who-knows-how-long. We drank our coffee and juice from disposable cups. When the young woman came to take our dishes, I asked if we should pay at the counter. She looked at me like I was crazy and just nodded a few head jerks at me. But within a few minutes we felt sorry for her too, because the main barrista lady spent some time yelling at her about the inefficient way she delivered food. Needless to say, but I shall say it, we will not be going back to Drip Coffee Lounge any time soon. And when the time comes that we consider it again, I don't predict that it will still be there.

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But that's my critical piece. The good part was that we were full and happy. We hopped on the 10 south, and headed to the Casa Grande Ruins in Coolidge. The temperature was in the 70s for most of the day, so we had decided to stay around Phoenix for this weekend's explorations. Casa Grande Ruins were built by American Indian peoples who lived and multiplied in and around the Gila River Valley for centuries, I think starting around 300ad. They are now called the Hohokam, which was a name given to them by a later tribe, the O'odham, but might be the ancestors of those very same people. Hohokam just means "used up," which I think might be interpreted "the people that were here before and are gone now?" Whatever. We enjoyed seeing the ruins, but mostly we sat in the cool shade and thought about what the heck it means that these people were here and built this and now it's abandoned. We also saw a Northern Flicker Woodpecker who lives in a cactus, and a Round-Tailed Ground Squirrel, who liked to jump. Mom, I think you'll appreciate the bird picture.

Then we went to Florence, the Pinal County Seat. A once-thriving mining town that sort of transitioned to agriculture as its main reason for existence. Back in the day it must have been beautiful. Today it is a bit dusty and deserted and has the kind of picturesque-ness that rusty iron and run down barns have. The Old Pueblo Mexican Restaurant, however, definitely justifies the continued existence of the town. Pretty much the best machaca and chile rellenos ever. Anyways, Casson toured the McFarland State Park (old courthouse and fire station) while I experienced slight heat exhaustion and swelling on a porch bench in the shade.

Next destination was Box Canyon. We chose it because there is a little star on the map indicating that it is a sight to see. We pulled onto a dirt road (Price Road) and followed it along the Union Pacific RR tracks for about 10 miles, 'til we passed what we think was the town of Price, and started heading up into the White Canyon Wilderness. Jeeps and 4-wheelers were passing us the other way in huge packs, so we knew we were headed somewhere exciting. The road started to narrow. It looked like we were headed directly into a rock wall, when we saw a crack in the rock, straight up on both sides. This was Box Canyon. Our Super-Roo made it a couple of miles in before we knew that we needed either a jeep with higher clearance, or a shovel to fill in the road. But just look at the coolness of this road. Yes, I got out and took pictures of Casson driving down the cool road.

On the way back to the highway, along Price Road, we spotted two snakes. The snakes come out in May for their mating season. Check out the California King Snake and the Rattler (the first one I've ever seen alive!). The rattler had been staring at us from the center of the road as I was trying to get my camera ready, but then he took off into the grass, but I got a shot of his rattle.

A Stereotype: White Lady With a Mission

Sorry, I don't do much these days except eat, sleep, and read books about birth, experiences which are not so interesting to hear about, I'm sure. Anyways, I'll try to think of something. The Quinn's came over on Friday evening for dinner. We ordered pizza. We loaned Amy the pool key so she can come float everyday. She's expecting her third child about the same time we are, so we sort of have a lot going on in common right now. She brought ice-cream, brownies, and strawberries, so I skipped my diet. Actually my sugar level was still fine even after eating a whole bowl. I've been testing Casson's too, to show him how badly it hurts. But he's usually a lot lower than me, which might prove the whole thing sort of true. Yesterday we went to Josh Ashurst's graduation party. He graduated from seminary on Friday. His parents were in town for the occasion, from Idaho. Sara (Josh's sister) is going to interview for a live-in nanny job in New Jersey this week. If she gets it, she'll sell her car and move there in a couple of weeks, to be gone for who-knows-how long. Emily (Sara and Rachel's roommate) is moving to St. Louis in July to go to graduate school. So, Rachel will be on her own in that house of hers. She's got Carlos next door who watches out for her, though. Rachel and Emily and I went out for brunch this morning at the Grande L'Orange, where we did battle for a table. Then I spent the afternoon writing thank you notes to the 40 people at work that showered me with baby gifts...mostly pink outfits. Our closet has more baby clothes than grown-up clothes. Which reminds me of why I'm mad: at the store that we all hate to love, there are those $1 sections. Well, I was going to buy four sets of baby hangers for a dollar each. They were cheaply made, but they are hangers. Who cares? Then I was looking for sheets in the regular baby section, and there they were selling the same number of hangers for .97... and much nicer quality. This is a WARNING against believing that the $1 section is a good deal. It's 10:00 on Sunday night, and Casson is still not back from Sedona, though he called, and they're almost home. He went mountain biking about 12 hours ago with Mike and Dave. Lately I don't really like being home alone, so I went shopping for no reason. But it was nice to just walk around in the air-conditioned stores, not really thinking of buying anything. I needed the exercise. Plus it's just nice to be around people, even strange people: There was a 12-year-old looking boy speaking to his mother in Spanish, saying over and over "I see your mustache, mom. You better get them transplanted. You have a mustache. Ah, a mustache. Look at your mustache!" And he was getting in her face and pointing at her lips. She was just sort of ignoring him, trying to look for the shirt she was interested in. I wanted to go whack him. I hope this is not a sign of a lack of patience. Then there was the lady in the blue t-shirt and jeans, crossing the street with a Walgreen's bag in her right hand, an angry fist for a left hand, and a lit cigar in her mouth, which puffed smoke at what appeared to be a normal breathing rate. But I love Saturday's in Phoenix at mall's and big discount stores, though not if I want to buy anything. There are countless hispanic families out shopping together (mom, dad, and all the kids). And I always feel so stereotypical as a white female. Reason being that all the other white females I see on these days are also on their own, just like me. And we're always walking twice as fast as everyone else. And we're all probably blogging about it, too.

Long Story about Haggling in America

We woke up naturally at about 9:00. Casson went to get a coffee from the Lux, and I started getting ready for the day. We were planning on leaving shortly for Tucson. The Shapiro's had heard about a bicycle swap meet on Sunday morning in the old capital of Arizona Territory. At about 10:00, however, we hadn't yet heard from the Shapiro's, so Casson decided to zip down to the Subaru dealer just down Camelback. I decided to go even though I didn't feel too excited about buying a new car. I thought our Montero was just fine, and who cared if we had to put a ton of money into fixing it, we'd probably still save money in the long run. But then there was the question of breaking down on the highway, which thankfully didn't happen, but just about did when I was driving my parents from the airport to our apartment last week. The car had barely made it home. So maybe a trade-in and a newer car wouldn't be a bad idea. We went to get the Montero washed. I ran into Cyndie ahead of us in the car wash line. Cyndie, my wonderful and proud Greek coworker, who doesn't let a chance pass to give me ideas for little girl names. So as she and her car were about to be led into the octopus-like cleaning machine, and she was suggesting 'Mia', and I would have made some response, but she suddenly disappeared into a whirlwind of mist and soap. By the time we made it through, she was gone. The Montero looked so good, I think Casson almost changed his mind about the new car idea. So we drove over to the Subaru dealer, where we were attended by several eager salespeople. The one who latched on and didn't let go was a small blond woman from down under. I think that when we mentioned that we were looking for an Outback, the non-Aussies sort of withdrew, and let the accent do its work. But to no avail. They didn't have any used Outbacks older than '07, except for an extremely old one that looked like it was about to fall apart. We'd told her our price range, and she told us that THAT was all we could expect to find within our price range. We thanked her for her time, and a tall salesman tried to get us to stay a bit by pointing out some Suburbans we could get financed for $150 a month. Not Suburban, sir. Subaru. So we did what no Phoenician who is not hunting for a good deal on a car would do. We drove to Mesa to see an Outback we'd seen online. We pulled into the Chrysler dealership. A woman came out of the sales office to greet us. She was wearing normal grocery shopping clothes, and we liked her right away. She said that the car we were interested in was at their Gilbert store, which made us gasp for oxygen. But she explained that the store was only three miles away, so we breathed easy. She offered us a ride, and I opened my mouth to accept, but Casson told her that we'd rather follow her there, if it was all the same to her. I don't think it was all the same to her, but she had no choice. When we got in the Montero, Casson said "it's all about control." I guess so, because I sure felt it.

At the other store, we saw the car we were looking for. It was in good shape, hadlow mileage, and had exactly what we thought would be good for space, comfort, and all that. Asking price was about $4,000 more than as advertised online, so Casson mentioned it, and she said no problem, the online price would stand. Casson also mentioned we'd like to do a trade-in. No problem, she said. So Casson and she drove it back to the other store and I followed in the Montero. We parked and inspected the new car, while she inspected our old one. Then we went inside and the NEGOTIATIONS began. Was I transported back to the souqs of Fes? I think the haggling went back and forth more times than in any marketplace in history. At one point, Casson said "Well, thanks for your time ma'am, that's more than we are prepared to spend" (and it was, he wasn't lying), and he began to get up out of his seat. I, on the other hand, began to sweat profusely, and my face turned red hot. There was a tenseness in the air that I could sense, but I didn't understand it. Finally, I began to snap out of it and started to stand up, when she said "Well, wait here, I'll go see what can be done." So we sat back down. I couldn't believe it. Is this how it worked? "Yes, this is how it works," Casson would tell me with a glance. I fidgeted through the manual, pretending to be really interested in how the seat belts buckled, not wanting to say anything because I was convinced that the office was tapped. Finally she returned with an offer no better than the first, so at that point we really did leave. It was a little bit calming to leave. You've got to make up your mind about the limit, and stick to it. Well, we drove to get something to eat, and on the way, Casson had an idea. If we payed that amount, but kept our Montero, it would be worth it. So he called her back and told her his offer. She'd call him back. So it wasn't over? This was all at about 1:00. We had lunch, with about four phone calls from her with different offers. Casson chewed his turkey sandwich and graciously declined all of them, even when it was brought down to only $200 more than our offer. He decided that we should probably be wise and look elsewhere in the meantime, confident that they would call back. We spent some time at the Mesa library, looking up dealerships, but mostly killing time hoping they'd call back. No phone calls. So we went to a Scottsdale dealership, and they had sold theirs. No phone calls. By this time it was 3:30, and we were heading back to Phoenix. We were both thinking, it's only $200! But we had decided not to do it, and we had to draw the line somewhere. Just as we were cresting the hill through Papago Park, and feeling a bit crestfallen, the phone rings. They came down to our offer, no strings attached. Woohoo! So we turned around and headed back. She came out to greet us, and we went in and bought the car. Our saleslady was great, and very happy for us, but the man behind the drawn curtain in the back office didn't appear so. We caught angry glimpses of him from time to time. And our saleslady had to go ask him some paperwork questions a few times, and we'd hear her voice, but not his, even though we were about 10 feet from him. So strange! So that's how we got our new car.

Diverse Matters Which Occurred Recently, and Supporting the Practice of Guessing over Lame Stubborness

Christy picked me up from work yesterday. We decided to grab a bite to eat at Zen 32. Robin couldn't make it. I think she was already out of town. Christy is doing well, training for another half marathon, which I could have guessed. She's also planning on taking two master's classes this summer, on top of working an unpaid teaching internship and whatever job she can manage to support herself with. Washington D.C. sounds so wonderful and interesting. The Pope is going to be there on Wednesday, and she's bound to see him. Wants to get blessed, she said. She heard Madeleine Albright speak at a Barns and Noble not long ago. Sounds like a political Hollywood. I ended up eating half a bowl of edamame and three whole sushi rolls. Nothing raw, though. Strange place to work if your white and tall, because they have to wear kimonos that look very uncomfortable. I was so stuffed after eating, but I still would not have passed up a chance to get Gelato Spot for the second time that week, if Casson hadn't pulled up that very minute to pick me up. I said good-bye to Christy. She'll be back in June for Heidi's wedding. That'll be right during the week that baby-girl Mathis (aka Kicky-the-Dinosaur) is due to be born. I was almost asleep at about 9:00 that evening, when I got a call from Christy from the airport. She'd dropped off her rental car and found my pannier on the passenger side floor. So I rushed down to the airport, got my bag, and got to see her off. I wish I could go off talking about how great that girl is, but she might someday find this blog, and then she'd be embarrassed. It's not too much to say that she is one of the greatest women I know. Casson says so, too. Today was the last day for testing. I only witnessed one kid entirely break down, and it wasn't even the hilarious kid. This kid couldn't figure out one of the math questions, and refused to guess. He didn't care that he was going to miss the bus and have to take the late bus home, an extended amount of time which wouldn't get him any closer to the answer, since it was an area of math that he had not yet learned. Finally I mentioned something about maybe having to leave it blank, and he immediately said "ok." He didn't want to guess, but he was ok with leaving it blank. If I'd have known that, we could have saved forty minutes of bickering, and the other children could have been dismissed to their classes that much sooner, though I know how much they all enjoyed coloring the Japanese flag for a half-hour. Needless to say, most of the children got a little more creative than a plain red dot. As for my stubborn little friend, it will be good for him to reach the level of mathematics in which they discuss "chance," so that he will understand the possible benefit of guessing. We got a car seat. Thanks a ton for that, O Mom and Dad. Now we are ready! Last bit of news is that Casson found out that his firm covers family health insurance. Not personally exciting to anyone else, but sure is great news for us. Sometimes we don't realize how often we 'win the lottery' without even buying a ticket. I'm going to go NOT eat ice cream right now, since I'm now having to record everything I eat, and I'm embarrassed to show the nice lady at the hospital my extensive intake. I didn't get the glocometer yet, and once I do get it, I may need my mom to explain to me how to use it, over the phone. Have a great night or day, everyone!

Showing how other people are unpredictable, and we, apparently, are not so.

There's no guessing about what kind of people you will see from one moment to the next. I've tried it, and it's impossible. Today at the Pannikin Coffee Shop in Leucadia, I never could have guessed to see the large, sparklingly dressed, expensively sun-glassed, possibly Persian family ordering food like it was their last meal. The men did the ordering, the women told the nanny what to do and what not to do to the baby, the children were replicas of their parents, and the nanny smiled, nodded, and spoke Spanish. How they possibly ordered anything amidst their own chaos is an illogical mystery. The Salads! The soups! The sandwiches! The eggs done this way and that! The breads with whole wheat please, not toasted too much, you know what I mean! Ah the espressos and juices all around! Oh! and when the food came to the table, what passings of plates, what cries of joy, what sharings of spoons, what reachings-for, tuggings-at, and switchings-around of meals! Such perfected ado about nothing was never before seen. Here was a family that loved being itself. That evening we drove up to San Clemente and camped at the State Park on the beach. A long pier shot out to sea, at the end of which a man had just hauled in a stingray and was quartering it. The stinger looked like a stretched Indian arrow head made of the sleekest metal. A woman nearby was coaxing a live starfish to stretch its feet, and some dolphins were leaping high above the water surface nearby. At the other end of the pier, the Fisherman's Restaurant was swarming with people waiting nearly two and a half hours for a table. They'd miss the sunset by that time. One of the lucky few, who'd already eaten and was forcing her way out of the crowds, was a wispy-haired old woman who didn't care that her dinner party had left her behind. "Look at you two" she grabbed our cheeks. "You're just a couple of kids, and now you're married!" She had reason to belittle us... she and her husband were about to celebrate their 67th wedding anniversary. "And only sometimes did we have 'arguments' or should I say 'discussions' in which we raised our voices only a shade above what I'm using now." Her joyful eyes looked at us laughingly. She was probably thinking "You're young. You don't know anything yet." We were probably thinking "You're old. You don't know anything anymore." And we would both be wrong. Casson asked where else might be a good place to eat without such a wait, and the little lady rattled off a few restaurants that didn't sound appealing. A man in dark sunglasses was leaning against the wall nearby and was listening to our conversation. He took the opportunity to suggest the White Horses, just across the road, where they served French-ish food. It looked quaint enough, so we walked and waddled on over. We only had to wait a half-hour for a table on the balcony, and the owner took down our phone number to call us when it was ready. In the meantime we sat down on a lovely bench before some grass patches, and some picnic tables where some young skaters were congregating. After sitting a while, we decided to walk down the pier for a moment, and we were approached by a tired-eyed skater who held a mini-bible in his hand. "I have a verse for you guys" he said awkwardly but not nervously. He then read us something from Matthew that discouraged divorce. "And for your little one," he motioned to my belly and I smiled the kind of smile you give when you feel a little embarrassed for someone else. He flipped a few pages and read the verses about it being better to have a millstone hung about our necks and be flung into the sea (our imaginations were not needed, here) rather than lead one of these little ones astray. Casson and I tried to talk to him, ask him where he was from and such, but he seemed to not feel comfortable just talking. "I don't even know if you're Christians" he stammered. "We are," we told him. His manner showed that he didn't seem to believe us for some reason. "Have a good good Friday," we said as we headed off. I think he may have stared after us for some time, but I'm not sure. Dinner was great and rest was better. The next day we rode our bikes from San Clemente to San Juan Capistrano, along the Pacific Coast Highway and beach trails, and East along the San Juan Creek Trail. In San Juan Capistrano we saw the old Mission and Basilica (the first winery in California was started there, they say). On the ride back to San Clemente I had to stop off at a cafe to get a drink and rest. Casson went for the truck while I waited. That's when I called my folks, and they've already heard all of this. We then drove north along the route where we had ridden. We stayed the night in San Juan Capistrano at a not-so-cheap cheap motel, but we were glad to have a shower and a soft bed (the hard ground doesn't treat my joints well these days). Then deja-vu happened "all over again." We turned on the TV and ended up watching Lethal Weapon-4 from a point about 20 minutes into the story, until about 20 minutes from the end, when we decided that we were so tired, and that it really didn't matter that we see the ending, again. I'd be surprised if you made it to the end of this. I hope you had a happy Easter!

We hit up the Circle K on the way out of town, so I could purchase a bag of ice. I emptied half of the ice into the rocks next to the free air machine, and put the rest in the small cooler to preserve the cheese, milk, pickles, and eggs that I'd grabbed from the fridge on the way out the door. The Shapiro's were in the back, Mike already telling glorious people-stories, like the one about the Modern Mountain Man and his friend who ate the entire 15 lb salmon and slept til 3 the next day, and nearly got ticketed for fishing without a license. Past Red Mountain to the North, past the Superstition Wilderness, past the state trust land which is empty except for the ghosttown Renaissance Festival, past Superior at the base of the great cliffs, and Miami at the back side of them. We went to Globe, AZ. We'd been there before, sort of admiring the Duluth-like streets and the wedding cake-like strip mines, eating Little Caesar's in a Basha's parking lot. Casson's coworker is from Globe and hates it, but claims that it has the best Mexican food restaurants anywhere. "Where's the best one?" we asked. "Y-Oh's," she said. "Y-Oh's?" we echoed. "Yeah, let me think... wuh wuh why-oh's... yeah it starts with a Y." Anyways, we found it, actually spelled Guayo's, but the pronunciation was accurate. I ate one taco and sufferred from heart burn the rest of the night. After dinner we weaved our way up into the Pinal Mountains, found a classic campsite, started a fire, pitched tents, and read Wind In the Willows, though we were living the Wind in the Pines. Wind In the Willows is so quaint and beautifully written, that you, too, would crave cold tongue and pickled herring after only one chapter. In this chapter, Mole had returned to Mole's End, feeling completely snug, secure, and satisfied to be home, feeling that it really was a safe harbor for him to always return to, but never thinking for a moment that he would give up his dream to see the world. No plans were made for the next day, for not making plans the night before is a way of communicating that we all have no requirement for waking up early, and our plans will have to take shape as a consequence of how late we sleep. We slept until the sun was well above the cliff over our heads. We made ourselves a fire and breakfast; eggs with feta, avocados, and ripened tomatoes, fresh melon, and hot mochas, chocolated by that mistress of the Mexican food aisle, Abuelita! After packing up, we began searching for the trail that would lead us through Six Shooter Canyon. Alas! We had passed it on the road the night before and were not destined to find it that day. We found another, however, that began by heading down a small stream, with a nice set of granite falls to lure us on. When we arrived at a trail division, we took the uphill trail to the right, East Mountain Trail. Up and up, we switched back and forth, slowly and happily the whole way. At the top we found ourselves on a ridge, with views to the East and West, valleys of green and yellow rolled out like carpets. We continued on the trail for another few miles, sometimes on the edge of a steep mountain grade, sometimes in what felt like a kind of desert thicket on flat ground. Eventually we made it back down to meet up with the road we were parked on, only a few miles south. We got back to the car, drove down the mountain, back through Globe (convinced even during daylight that the town must be heavily and illegally drugged), stopped to buy a book at the Book Bank in Miami, and finished our weekend off with a large Irish dinner at Rula Bula's in Tempe.

25 weeks

This is because Vanessa said she wanted to see. This picture may look like a scary back malformation, but it is a belly.

HOT DOG CART SHOWROOM

It's definitely a girl. She weighs almost two pounds already. She looks just like she will look, only extra small. We saw her open eyes on the ultrasound today. Unfortunately we forgot our camera. She was sucking on her umbilical cord, waving her hands, kicking and hiccuping. Her head isn't abnormally huge like I suspected. She is probably ten inches long. That's about as much as I can say about what she's up to.

I went for a hike in Dreamy Draw park on Sunday - look how green it was! Yellow and Purple flowers were everywhere! I can't wait to have Spring Break next week. I plan on being outside all day long every day, before it gets too hot. Red Mountain in Mesa is gorgeous this time of year, but there was such strange traffic getting home from there. There were people running a marathon on Power Rd/Bush Hwy with no shoulder to run on. I was scared someone would faint in front of our car.

Nothing is new, really. We both get home late each night, eat dinner, and go to sleep earlier and earlier. We watched a few interesting movies in the past few weeks: Metropolitan, A Room with a View, Moonstone...though I don't highly recommend any of them. Casson really wants to see There Will Be Blood at the theater, but the preview scared me so I make excuses why we can't go. I'm sure he'll go see it on his own. He really doesn't mind going to the movies by himself.

Stores in a small strip just across the street from us: HOT DOG CART SHOWROOM, TRACKS IN WAX RECORD SHOP, THE FLIGHT OF PHOENIX EXOTIC BIRD STORE, and our very own PSYCHIC. These stores are what divide the super beautiful campus of the Jesuit private school from the nasty painted brick Central High School...why would they build them that close together? Anyways, I still love the neighborhood where we live... we saw the price on a one story, little, plain, square house just down the street from us... 2 bedrooms, 2 baths, super tiny everything (we looked in), all for a mere 340,000. There aren't even trees in the yard! How can anyone buy a house right now? Could you possibly ask that much just because you renovated the kitchen recently? Casson says we should go offer them 180, just so they get an idea of the ridiculousness of it all.

Two Ladies Out for a Pleasant Walk

The two ladies were led by their little dogs down the sidewalk in front of my apartment. They were gossiping about somebody or other. I keep my windows open on fine afternoons, and any conversations that take place in the street sound as clear as if they were taking place on my front porch. Just fifteen minutes before this, when I had arrived home from work, there'd been a high school girl sitting on the electric box outside my gate, waiting for her boyfriend to come pick her up. Lots of teenagers hang out at that spot. Each morning there is a group there, smoking and talking about things I would rather not have to listen to. But they are very polite to me whenever I leave for work. And whoever is there when I arrive home is just as polite. They do leave quite a mess in their wake. Hot pink and black cigarette boxes, nasty cigarette butts, strips of paper torn off of failed English assignments, and broken plastic cups don't outright destroy the overall scenery, but they don't let you imagine that you live in a secluded country home, either. I was sitting at my desk when I saw their shadows on the sidewalk outside the gate and heard their voices over the brick wall. Two ladies. The word lady in Noah Webster's Dictionary of 1828 states that a lady is "A woman of distinction. Originally, the title of Lady was given to the daughters of earls and others in high rank, but by custom, the title belongs to any woman of genteel education." "Just look at this!" cried the younger. Their shadows stopped advancing. "What is it?" demanded the elder. "It's those d***** high-schoolers. They're always sitting around here, and then they go and leave their s*** all over the place." She had discovered the mess I was referring to, and was using genteel vocabulary to describe the scene. "That's disgusting," commented the elder. "Typical," sneered the younger. True ladies recognize bad education and repudiate its influence. "Let's turn around here," said the younger. "He's done." "Who's done?" I wondered as their shadows retreated. I was curious about the immature mess that had sparked their commentary. When I had arrived, I hadn't really noticed anything worth looking twice at. So I grabbed my key and didn't bother to slip on my shoes. They and their dogs were already gone around the next corner. I opened the gate and glanced at the grass. But before my eyes could be attracted by anything resembling teenager trash, they were hijacked by the sight of a large pile of dog food that had travelled the full extent of the dog's digestive tract. Not two seconds later I was assaulted further by a most unpleasant odor, compared to which cigarette smoke and ashes is a rose garden. I had to retreat directly, and I was forced to shut my windows on what would have otherwise been a quite pleasant day in the big city. Moral: Whenever we encounter utter depravity in the world, we should do our best to grace the situation with our own little gifts of decency and decorum, for the betterment of society.

Learning to Labor and Louis Lamour

Don't worry, Casson decided not to apply for the army. The interview was very enlightening: it was obvious that despite the excitement of travelling and "being a part of it all", the likelihood of having to go on several 15 month assignments without being able to take along your family is just too much. Three months was what we had in mind, and that would be hard enough. He did have his first day in court on Thursday, all on his own. Basically it ended up that the judge rescheduled the hearing because the other side wanted to make some changes to their defense. Casson said it was still pretty fun to stand in front of the judge and speak for his client. He's doing a lot at the firm that he enjoys. We both really like our jobs and are learning more than could be learned in school. I just pray that his job will lighten up a bit as far as the feeling of extreme pressure. Sidenote: I wonder what ever happened to all those Louis Lamour books that used to be in the upstairs den at my parents house? I always figured they were worthless and cheezy westerns. But recently we rented an audio book "Mohave Crossing" and "The Sixth Shotgun" and listened to them while driving across the desert. If its not the best writing in the world, its nowhere near the worst. Both stories were perfectly told and we laughed throughout both of them, especially at the endings, which sound almost like punchlines. Conclusion: Louis Lamour westerns make for great listening on road trips.

Sandy Ego

"I could never live in Arizona. There's not enough excitement there," stated the elder half of the couple that sat next to us at the seaside coffee shop in La Jolla. I was already a little bit bummed that the coffee came in paper cups, the cheesecake was frozen, and I'd shown a little table-rage when an outside seat opened up. But I was really in the best of moods, beginning to forgive myself. The lady in green took her place at the table that I had previously been at, with her sweater only a shade greener than before. I stuck my legs out of the iron bars that divided the cafe from the traffic-packed street. I made a point of looking hard out onto the water, to make sure the lady knew that I really appreciated my new prospect, and hoped she would feel a little generous because of it. I turned my head and made eye contact with the man. "Hey, we're from Arizona." I can't remember much of the rest of the conversation, other than that he tried to justify his remark by stating that when he referred to "Arizona," he was really talking about "Gilbert," and that he was mostly concerned about the water supply. "Well, you've got us there," said Casson. A bike ride from Carlsbad to La Jolla and back was just what we needed this last weekend. The coastal highway is a constant stream of speedy cars, family vehicles, elastic bikers, and long distance joggers. It's awesome! Only in California can you be out of spares, get a flat tire on your bike, look up, and see a bicycle shop across the street. Just make sure you go cross at the light, because the fine for crossing the Coaster tracks is something like $1000. Only in California can you see people crossing the said Coaster tracks in broad daylight. Actually that only happened once. The thing about the lack of spares/looking up/appearance of bike shop probably only happens once, too. But these things do happen.

Phoenix is Green

The herbage is a foot deep outside my door, in the empty lot that is usually nothing but a barren field of broken glass and pebbles, and used exclusively by dirt bikers. I wish I were in Turkey with my sister. Casson says so, too. But we're going to San Diego this weekend, which is almost as nice. I can barely bend over anymore, so we'll see how the bike management goes. Nadine and I got the tea-service at BORDERS again, yesterday. I know that Mike and Robin had been there before because "their" books, Mascot and She Got Up Off the Couch, were both on the Please Reshelve-rack, and looked slightly more used than a pair of brand new books should appear. The tea-service: a-hem. First of all, let me say "tea service" makes it the most fabulous item on the menu. Forget paper cups... let's get back to teapots and teacups and lovely service. What if this were an option for all coffee drinks once again? I think even Starbucks used to have the option: for-here or to-go cups. Now they are subliminally communicating inhospitality. Anyways, I wish I could say that this all led to lower prices for coffee drinks, but it doesn't seem to. The exact opposite happens with the tea-service...$2.65 for a pot and any number of teacups? And you don't throw anything away (except Sugar-in-the-Raw packets).

Being 'Pregnick'

Second Grader Quote of the Day: "Hey, you'we weawwy dedeen pat."

If you like this, you'll love vanessapeterzen.blogspot.com

Sorry about the Latin plural "the-mathi" (from the plural of Mathis, our last name), but we live amongst cacti and can't escape the logic of it. I hope that this way of communicating outdoes facebook and hotmail and letter-writing. I think that it's partly due to the signing in and out of facebook and the like, and especially the stamp-buying and -sticking and placing-outdoors of the letter that keeps me from being more of a correspondent with friends and family. What do you say?